Revolving Drummers

I'm a big believer in birthday celebrations.

So since my fabulous friend had had a miserable birthday yesterday, we intended to make up for that today.

Hence our meeting at Six Burner to raise a glass and dish.

Lunetta Prosecco provided the bubbles as we discussed her trip to Boston (modern art, not so much), the Outer Banks (watch out for troughs) and men who don't know how to gift their womenfolk (tragic).

Over fried oysters with a very spicy tartar sauce and bacon-wrapped dates in a blue cheese sauce, I heard about koi-seeking raccoons, blockage and being felt up by a drunk cousin.

Did she just do what I think she did?

We encountered a favorite theater type who jumped into our discussion to explain Kimmy Gibler ("Full House"), Theater Lab ("Trojans") and the beauty of staying put ("You don't have to go to L.A. or NYC to make it in theater").

Dessert was housemade some'ores with toffee, a decadent take on the Girl Scout favorite.

Did I mention it had a burning birthday candle atop it?

She blew it. Out.

We didn't even try to eat the oozy concoction as an entity, preferring to use our fingers to pull out choice bits until it was no more.

In all likelihood, we'd have sat there all night sipping Verdejo and talking about men and beach vacations, but her beloved texted and she had to be off.

One of the distinct pleasures of leading a cell phone-less life is never having to be interrupted when having fun.

So she went off to meet her man and I sallied forth to Ballcieaux.

It was a quadruple bill with some familiar faces, if not bands, on it.

I ran into a fiend's husband who informed me that I was his surrogate wife, meaning I attend his shows on the nights when his cute wife is home in bed.

I do what I can to help out my friends.

The show began with a small crowd and Lynchburg's Asentimentalsong, which is really a guy named Joe paying guitar and looping it.

His sound, aptly described by a friend as "A one-man Explosions in the Sky" was lush and dynamic.

I had it from a reliable source that Joe used the same loop pedal as the inimitable Dave Watkins.

During the break, I had the distinct pleasure of hearing the classic Delphonics tune, "Didn't I Blow Your Mind?"

Matt Northrup from Charlottesville played next, doing fast-paced guitar jams and looping them endlessly.

A friend saw his sound as classic-rock oriented, but he got my attention with his his sharpness and speed.

An audience member clamored for "Small Snacks" and Matt obliged.

Turns out that the audience member suggesting music was Andrew, also a musician.

And, surprise, surprise, next up was Oakland California's The Andrew Weathers Ensemble, doing a sort of ambient folk.

The trio took the stage shoeless and when Joe joined them, he was also exhorted to remove his.

It made for a quartet of three guitars,one concertina/harmonica and forty toes.

Things got very post-rock as one guitarist began playing his instrument with a screwdriver.

A friend arrived, pulled up  bar stool and we began dissecting his recent love life.

After  a few well-placed questions, he asked if I was like a therapist.

Doubtful, but maybe I could play one on TV.

We were both excited to see the English Majors, comprised of Dave Watkins (Colloquial Orchestra), Matt Klimas (Snowy Owls) and PJ Sykes (Hoax Hunters).

Interestingly, they began with Dave on drums and Matt and PJ on guitars, but for the second song, Matt took drum duties and the other two shredded.

Friend looked at me, marveling, "Did you know Dave could do that?"

No, indeed.

By the third song, it was PJ on drums (and almost as much of a beast as he can be on guitar) with Dave and Matt doing guitar duty.

The sound was without vocals but fast-paced, with the guitars always pushing forward.

And no effects on those guitars, which must have been a challenge for certain members of the Majors.

You know who I'm talking to.

Another friend came over, looking dapper again thanks to his new girlfriend ("Usually I try to date women who don't come to shows with me, but..." and there she was) and asking if he could buy me a drink.

Not necessary.

As it was, the English Majors (and I'm pretty sure none of them were actually English majors) finished their set and Balliceaux wanted us out of there.

Which was fine.

By that time, I'd celebrated a friend, been called a surrogate, heard a favorite musician say "By the time we play, it'll be just Karen and the bartenders," and dispensed relationship advice.

Not sure I blew anyone's mind this time, but then there's always tomorrow night.